


A House on Mercy Street

by konoyo



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Seven Miles (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Other, except there's jokes, grim dark noir detective procedural, so it doesn't get too sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 02:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konoyo/pseuds/konoyo
Summary: Norman McBride is a stranger to doing the right thing. Most of the things he does are mistakes, and ones that cost him dearly. Valentine Ewing is probably going to be one of those, aren't they?





	A House on Mercy Street

Fall in Indiana is absolute shit. It's raining more often than it isn't and when it isn't the sun just sears into your eyeballs like it's specifically out to get you and your over caffeinated state. It's also fucking cold. October shouldn't be this fucking cold. Today, it's gloomy and cloudy and cold. Norman lights up, giving the disabled fire alarm in his office a chilly look. He will smoke where he wants to and he's not going outside to do it. Maybe he'll push a window open, just so no one comes complaining. Again.

There's a new case on Norman's desk. That's nothing new, there's a couple of other manila folders collecting dust in his desk drawer with no real leads to them. This one though, he thinks to himself as he flips through the information, this one is going to be a problem. Not because of the situation - it's just a missing person report, not exactly groundbreaking or anything, but because of who it is that's missing. The door to Norman's office pushes open. Right on cue.

"I'm on this case with you," Valentine Ewing says without a whole lot of preamble, as they tend to do. "Are you smoking in here again?"

"No way are you on this case with me," Norman says, then takes a drag.

"Yes, I am." They try to grab for the folder on Norman's desk, but not before Norman hides it behind his back, breathing out a cloud of smoke so Val has to wave it away and cough.

"Bobby's going to bench both of us if I let you anywhere near this," he says, scooting his chair back as Val rounds the desk, putting his cigarette out before he accidentally sets the blinds on fire. Again.

"He's my boyfriend-"

"He _was _your boyfriend and then he dumped you and you cried about it to the whole department so literally the whole city knows that you would be fucking biased- get the fuck away from me!" Val is trying to get the folder out from behind Norman's back and Norman kicks at them even though all that does is almost send the chair out from under him.

"Give me the file, McBride," Val insists, their hands on Norman's armrests, trapping him in his chair.

"I like my job, Ewing." Val looks a little more frazzled than usual, Norman has to admit. Maybe the whole scene they caused during the breakup was genuine. But it was also three or four years ago. Why would they still care?

"You hate your job. You complain about it enough. I just want to see it, come on."

"Detective McBride?" The door creaks open again and Val dives under Norman's desk just as Captain Bobby Chulk enters the room. "I thought... Wasn't Detective Ewing in here with you? Have you been smoking in here again?"

"They came in to yell at me for smoking," Norman says, mostly because this gives him the opportunity to stick his feet on Val's chest and they can't complain about it. "Then left after I put it out."

Bobby looks doubtful. "Well, you can tell them that if I hear that they're trying to get anywhere near the Bennett case, they're fired. You're fired, Val, I'm serious," she tells the room at large. Val doesn't answer and she sighs. "Well, I warned them. Anyway, get cracking, McBride. I don't want you sitting around here while the case goes cold. And try not to shoot anyone this time."

"Yes, ma'am," Norman says and she thankfully leaves it at that, shutting the door behind her as she leaves. "You heard the boss lady," he tells Valentine, shoving his shoe in their face just to be a jerk about it.

"I'm just going to tail you, you fucking- stop that, I don't have a foot fetish, old man," Val says, shoving Norman away and getting up from the floor, dusting theselves off. "I'm going to be part of this case and you can't stop me."

"Fucking fine, you know what. It's your job on the line and not mine and if this case gets dismissed based on your involvement, that's on you," Norman huffs, throwing the case file onto the desk for Val to pick up. They're flipping through it now and the warning doesn't seem to sink in. Christ. They probably deserve to be fired. "Don't you have another case to deal with?"

"It's already in court, I just have to testify a couple of times," Val says, snapping the folder shut. "Come on, I'll wait for you in my car," they say like it's just how it's going to be and head out of Norman's office, taking the case file with them.

Norman didn't sign up for this. Why is this Norman's life? Fuck. He stands and runs his hands through his hair, then picks up his half smoked cigarette. It's fine. They'll find no leads, Stefan will be missing forever and Val can go back to being the pain in the ass that they are, just to someone else. It's been four days after all. There's no way they're finding him, Norman can just taste it in the air.

He lights his cigarette, then finally heads outside. Val is in their car, just as promised, the dark red SUV already pulling out of their parking spot. There's not even half a sense of subtlety in their whole body, huh? Fine. Just fine. The drive to Stefan Bennett's apartment is a short one. The building is a squat, three story project, the windows facing a parking lot, an overpass humming with traffic nearby. It's a little bit depressing but, honestly, so is the whole city.

The superintendent lets them in and Norman watches Val withdraw into themselves, shoulders pulled in, hands in their pockets. "You know that man," Norman says. "Is it usually this neat?" The apartment really is neat, almost boring. There's a small stack of papers on a table by the door and a ring of keys neatly hung above it. Someone had forgotten them when they left, looks like. Val looks at the keys, then at Norman and Norman holds their gaze. Leave now or you'll regret it.

Val looks away, heading further into the apartment. "It's actually kind of messy, for him." The window has been left open and it's chilly, but Norman can still smell a faint something... Bleach perhaps? Was Stefan a germaphobe as well? Or is it something a bit more sinister?

He shakes his head and looks through the stack of papers. Case files... Fun.

"What did he do- Does he do again?"

"Social work. Helping people."

Norman makes a face. What a goddamn goody two shoes. He doesn't say that out loud or Val will probably punch him. How the hell did these two even happen? Does Stefan have some sort of savior complex? Or is Val into the camp counselor aesthetic? Christ. He moves towards the living room, taking his own look around.

There's a roll of plastic sheeting behind the couch and a large roll of duct tape, partially used.

Val has turned on their flashlight in the kitchen. "There's something between some of the laminate tiles," they say, getting on their knees. "And, ah... fuck. It's blood. It's blood, Norman." Norman leaves the couch be. "There's some on the ceiling, too, christ..." Val's right, there are smears of red on the toe kick, clear as day, not wiped very well. The spray pattern on the ceiling hasn't even been touched. Not even noticed by whoever cleaned up the mess they'd made. The sheeting and the tape... Why not use a shower curtain? Norman chews his bottom lip and thinks.

Val isn't looking so hot however. They're checking cabinets, closing them with a clatter, like they're about to find a bloody knife in the cutlery drawer. "We have to get a team in here," they say. "There's got to be something. Anything. Someone did this - I'll find them, I'll fucking find whoever-"

"I'll make the call. Valentine, get yourself together. Do you want to be part of this or not?" Norman asks, making Val freeze up.

"Yes, I do."

"Well, then bottle that shit up and deal with it later. Right now you're going to canvas the building. Ask the neighbors what they heard or didn't hear, saw or didn't see. Got it?"

Val stops, breathes in for a moment and squares their shoulders. "Got it."

"Good." That should take them a little while and get them out of the apartment. Norman drags the couch forward to take a look at the duct tape a little closer. There's a brand name on both the tape and the sheeting and soon enough he's heading out of the apartment, just as CSI is heading in.

There are only a couple of hardware stores in the vicinity and it takes Norman some time to scan through what footage they have. It should be hard to miss someone walking out with a human sized amount of plastic sheeting. He pays special attention to anyone who looks like they do construction. He's at the third store when he hits a jackpot: a man in a baseball cap checking out exactly the array of items Norman's looking for, including a large bottle of bleach, at 7:56 PM, just before closing time. Even the cashier looks a little concerned. Yikes.

There are no cameras focused on the parking lot but there are a couple of traffic cams on E New York he can definitely access. Damn, this is going to take some time.

Val has absolutely been blowing up his phone in the meanwhile with more and more frantic sounding texts. By the time Norman is done, it's around dinner time and he sighs and just calls them back.

"Where have you been?" Val demands almost immediately. "The CSI team won't tell me jack shit because Bobby told them not to, they won't even let me back into the apartment, and no one in the rest of the building heard anything and I waited - I waited until the downstairs neighbors got back and nothing, McBride, _nothing_."

"I've been working the case, dipshit," Norman says because he doesn't have the energy for this right now. Thankfully, Val just keeps talking.

"I called his dad and he hasn't seen Charlie around, not since he filed the missing person's report. He's not picking up his phone and he's not at his exwife's place either. I swear to god if that no good son of a bitch had anything to do with this, I'll-"

"What's the make and model of the truck? And color?" Norman asks, shouldering his phone and taking out his notepad.

"It's a white pickup, uuh, 1996 Ford F250, I think. Why?"

"Covering bases. Is Stefan's car still in the parking lot?" Norman asks, putting the notepad away and opening his own car door.

"Uh, yeah, it was when we got there." Val sniffles a little on the other end of the line.

"Okay. I'm going to go talk to his father tomorrow. Are you going to make my life difficult?"

There's another sniffle. "I have a deposition tomorrow. I can't leave without risking the case being thrown out. And I promised I'd visit the kid tomorrow, too."

"Then go to court and I'll handle it. And quit crying, you're an adult." Norman starts his car. Whoever kid this is, hopefully they'll keep Val occupied long enough for Norman to get a breakthrough. Probably a victim of that cult Val had been working a little while back, same case that's still in court right now. Good, then Val should be busy all day.

"Uh, yeah... Thanks, Norman. For doing your job."

"Go fuck yourself, Valentine."

/////

Goldsmith is about an hour's drive away. A pain in the ass, but not undoable. A white Ford pickup, plates matching Charlie Bennett's name had run a red light here, the night of the murder. This guy was just leaving a full trail glowing in neon behind him.

It didn't take long for Norman to figure out a direction. The man had panicked, loaded up his truck and ran, the only place he knew to go: home. So he headed north, starting out on a familiar route. But a three hours drive is too long to risk with a body in the back of your truck, especially when you make a habit of running red lights. So he needed someplace safe to stash it. The side of the road seemed too risky, even in the middle of the night. Come morning a fresh dug grave would be visible to passing motorists and with all the rain, the body could even wash back up.

Thankfully, your exwife has some undeveloped property up an hour in the direction you're headed. It was registered under her maiden name, but Norman found it eventually, turning over record after record. She's never going to do anything with it, might as well turn it into a graveyard, right?

Norman gets to the area sometime in the afternoon. The rain has ceased for today and the sun slowly peeks through the clouds, illuminating the bright yellow leaves on the trees that stand quietly by the side of the road, not even a breeze in the stillness. It's almost nice out, too pleasant, considering what it is Norman's here to do.

There's a place where he can see the fresh indents of tires, left there in the wet, muddy dirt. It goes through the field and out towards the more wooded part of the lot. There's two sets: there and back. Norman follows them, carefully trying to avoid sinking into the mud as he walks, picking out the grassier parts. There, in the trees, is a spot full of muddy, yellow leaves, disturbed mud and overturned dirt.

Norman takes out his phone, dialing. In the distance, he thinks he might see a white pickup truck, but he can't be sure, and it's gone before the operator picks up on the other end of the line.

/////

Val's car peels in around nightfall, while the CSI team is still digging around in the mud. Norman tugs his jacket closed around himself, sighs and steps out from under the cover of the tent, putting himself between the car and the scene, lifting his hand to squint against the headlights. The door crashes open and Norman has just enough time to catch Val by the shoulders as they stumble out. "Oh, no, you don't."

"Let me see him, you fucker," Val shouts, their voice piercing through the quiet between the trees. "Let me-" They try to struggle out of Norman's grip, trying to get around him and to the crime scene.

"Shut the fuck up. You'll go to the funeral like the rest of his family," Norman bites out, giving them a shake. The rain is starting up again and Norman can hear the engine of the ambulance turn on. Thank god. "You're not on this case and you'll be staying out of the morgue, too. Val, stop, don't make this any worse than it is. This is exactly why Bobby told you to stay away." Val is still pushing hard against him, cursing him out. They're hard to hold onto but Norman's doing his best, forcing them back towards their car. He can hear a couple of quiet murmurs from the team behind him. They know and they've seen this before, if maybe not from one of their own. "For fuck's sake, you knew he was dead since the day we went to his apartment!"

Val stops abruptly, turning their face away. Norman still has a firm grip on their shoulders in case they decide to do something stupid but all the fight seems to have gone out of them. "I did. So did you."

"Stop making this hard on yourself. Do you want to remember him alive or as a corpse, a piece of evidence? Trust me and don't ruin this for yourself. Just go home, Val. Just go home."

"I can't. I can't do that." They're shaking now, what Norman can see of their face lined with that familiar color of grief he's seen on too many people. Their hands come up to cover it as the ambulance lights turn on.

"Yes, you can, you're a grown adult not a fucking crybaby." They're sobbing now, right here in the middle of the road in the rain, crying like a child. Christ. Norman hesitates for one second longer, then pulls them into a hug because that's what he does, he makes mistakes. "Save this theatrical shit for the funeral and for someone who cares. You will go home, eat dinner, go to bed and then show up at the precinct tomorrow ready to find the guy who did this, okay?"

Val sobs into his shoulder and Norman sighs and just holds them, waiting for them to calm down. By the time they do, the team has already mostly packed up and it's like the ambulance wasn't even there in the first place. They're both drenched in rain and Val has started to shiver now that they've stopped sobbing. "I'll drive you home, come on." There it was, mistake number two. He loads Val into the passenger's seat of his Celica. "I'll tell someone to get your car to your place."

"God, it's like you live in the past," Val says when Norman gets in the driver's seat.

"I can kick you out," Norman dead pans, starting the car.

"Sorry. Do you have anything to drink?"

Norman sighs and looks at Val, leaning on the steering wheel. They smile and it's watery. Another sigh and Norman reaches into the glove box, digging around a little to find the flask he keeps in there but rarely touches. It's almost full. Once he hands it to Val, it's gone within a minute. "Alcoholic."

The hour's drive back to Indianapolis passes by in silence, Val leaning their head on the window, looking out into the road. They don't even complain when Norman opens his own window to smoke. Maybe they're asleep but when Norman asks for directions, they answer readily, without any delay. So maybe not.

Val's renting a second floor of a house that doesn't look like they should live there. It's one of those places that looks like it should house a family with 2.5 kids and a dog: a little powder blue colonial style building that's slightly falling apart, enough to look well lived in, white picket fence and all. Norman tries not to think about it. "Come up and have a drink, since I had all of yours," Val says and Norman sighs and parks the car, shutting off the engine. Mistake number three. But after a day like today, he needs it.

The interior of the apartment looks a little more like Norman would expect to belong to an overenthusiastic cop. It's messy, with clothes and take out containers everywhere, the kitchen counters absolutely replete with empty bottles of alcohol. Christ. "I thought I was just being mean when I said you were an alcoholic."

Val smiles and offers Norman a shot glass, then goes to dig for a bottle that still has something in it. "No, you're right. Whiskey?" They brandish a bottle. "Or I've straight vodka."

"Whiskey is fine."

"Whiskey it is." They pour Norman a full glass of it, then some for themselves and chug it down. Norman shakes his head but follows suit. Shotgunning whiskey. What a fucking mess. Val is filling up Norman's flask in the meantime and Norman takes the opportunity to take a look around. The room isn't completely devoid of decoration, some of it just gets lost behind the mess. He can spot a guitar, a cheerfully floral pillow on the couch, some wicker furniture in the living room that probably belongs somewhere far warmer than here. There are even some paintings up on the walls in odd, wood carved frames, and a couple of shelves filled with bizarre odds and ends, carefully arranged.

Norman was expecting a fucking bachelor pad, so pardon him if he's surprised. His own apartment certainly isn't this nice. He doesn't have wall art, just a couple of boxes he hasn't unpacked since the day he's moved in, five years ago, and car parts that probably should pay rent for the amount of space they take up. Val refills his glass and Norman almost downs it again before remembering that he doesn't have to. "Here you go," Val says, also handing Norman his flask back. "You're all set. Thanks for the ride."

"I feel like if I leave, you're going to kill yourself with booze," Norman blurts out.

"Then stay and pace me," Val snorts, clearly finding the thought ridiculous. "Or drink with me. I bet you'll pass out first."

"How much?" Norman asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Fifty bucks."

"Oh, you're on," Norman says and Val clicks their glasses together with a wink.

How he ends up on top of a half naked Val in their bed, well, Norman's a little fuzzy on those details. They're laughing about something at the time Norman's brain cells kick in, their hands rising up Norman's sides. Oh, his shirt is also missing. Well. He's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, or not kiss the coworker he's sitting on. Their mouth is soft and wet, warm like they've been kissing for a while now.

Val's hands are doing most of the talking for them, palms sliding into the back of Norman's pants, giving his ass a squeeze. Norman bites their lower lip for that and returns the squeeze with one of his own, pinching a nipple between crooked fingers. Val groans into his mouth and Norman is pleased. He definitely remembers popping the buttons on Val's shirt now, the fabric still slightly damp from the rain, tiny embroidered flowers dancing in his vision. He'd peeled off that layer, then slid his hands under Val's undershirt with a pleased hum as his palms ran over warm, smooth skin. It felt like he'd wanted to do that for a while. When had that happened? Val's not exactly his type.

Right now, Val's touch is gentle as they work Norman's pants down, running up his spine in a warm caress once they've gotten them off, tightening only a little when Norman squeezes them through their briefs. Their kisses are sweet and soft between the sounds they make, fingers gentle as they curl between Norman's thighs to stroke and tease. There's something about it that makes Norman sick to his stomach. It's too sweet. They're not lovers. They're not even friends. Is Val that drunk that they think Norman is someone else, god forbid Stefan?

Norman pulls away sharply as the thought hits, taking Val's wrist so they don't follow. "What the hell, Valentine? Who do you- You know who I am, right?"

"I know who you are, Norman," Val says, lifting their hand to lick their fingers, making it look so filthy that goosebumps run up Norman's arm where he's still holding their wrist. "I haven't forgotten."

They had ended up standing around Val's counter, drinking. The bottle was half empty when Norman found himself counting Val's eyelashes when they weren't looking, pretending to stare off into space when they were. "Hey, McBride," Val had said. "I dare you to kiss me."

"Then why...?"

"If you want it rough, you can just say," Val hums, reaching into their pants for their wallet. "Or if you just can't stand the sight of me, you're welcome to turn over. Imagine whoever it is you like."

"Fuck you, Ewing, maybe I will," Norman spits, getting off of them as they sit up, then plants himself on the other side of the bed on his stomach. "Just hurry it up."

There's the sound of a condom wrapper and then the bed shifts as Val moves up behind him. "Well, don't you just look delicious like this," they hum, hands warm on Norman's hips, squeezing with one hand as the other slides between Norman's legs again, making him moan.

"If you could shut up that would be great, too," Norman says, voice strained as Val slides a finger inside. "The accent is ruining it for me," he manages as the finger curls and rocks inside him, making him press his face into the pillows.

Val says nothing, though Norman can feel the smile against his spine. At least they can fucking follow directions. He can relax into it now, enjoy how attentive those fingers are, how they're making him moan into the sheets. He's arching into it, half on his knees, and there are kisses being bitten into his shoulders and he can think of other things now, fishing about for some celebrity he'd always wanted to sleep with and settling on Christopher Plummer as Captain Von Trapp just as he can feel a cock press up against him. Yeah, that would be hot. He closes his eyes and bears down, pushing back impatiently until it pushes in.

The Sound of Music was always on during Christmas, when watching TV was one of the only things he and Benjamin could do.

No. No, don't think about Benjamin. He's dead.

Val moves, their breath warm against the side of Norman's neck but all he can picture is Ben, around him, beside him. Norman can hear his voice, feel the touch of his hands in the one currently pushing through his hair. Those blue eyes, warm, smiling, angry, blank, dead, blood spilling over the floor, over Norman's hands, the gun-

"Stop, stop, Ben- Val, stop it-"

It's halting but Val stops, pulls away. There's a pause, where Norman tries to gather his thoughts. He can hear Val's breath by his shoulder. "Are you al-"

"Shut up. Don't- Don't ask questions." Norman shuffles towards the headboard until he can turn around. It's just Val there, no ghosts. Their head is cocked to the side like some confused puppy, which looks hilarious combined with the erection jutting out from where they still have their jeans on. "Now come here."

"Are you sure?" Val looks concerned and fuck that bleeding heart nonsense.

"Yes, I'm sure. Come. Here. And take those off."

Norman reaches out and Val does come this time after obediently squirming out of their jeans. He settles in their lap, one arm braced on the headboard, the other curling around their shoulders. Their hands are on Norman's hips again and they push forward to kiss him as they slide in, Norman's weight pushing them deeper, his thighs squeezing around their waist.

Yes. This is better. He bites Val's lip again, hand tightening in Val's hair and tugging their head back. He can kiss and bite at their neck as Val moves, pushing him back against the headboard. "Oh... Val, yes. Come on, pretty boy. Fuck me like you mean it."

Val growls a little and bucks and Norman sees stars for a moment, his heels pressing into the mattress to help them move. God yes. The bed creaks as they rock together and Norman doesn't have to think, just move and hold on as Val thrusts. The kisses Val presses to his shoulders are soft again but he doesn't stop them this time, a heady pleasure taking over. Maybe they're just like this, sweet and gentle with everyone, even with Norman. It doesn't mean anything. It can't.

"Norman, baby," Val moans softly into his ear and that's just unfair. They push his legs up, opening him further, pushing deeper, hands under his knees now and Norman kisses them back, letting go of the headboard to let Val get him on his back. Now that he has a hand free, he can work it between their bodies, stroking himself off in time. It's overwhelming, it's so much, but he doesn't want it to stop.

"Val. Val-" When he does break, it's hard and messy and loud and he's calling out Val's name as they rock him through it. He can't think, he can't even get out their full name and he's thankful for the brief respite from his own thoughts. Val shudders against him and bites down on his shoulder, as they ride out their own orgasm, coming to a shuddering stop once they're done. Both of them are panting, spent and Norman feels just a little bit dizzy, which must be the alcohol.

"Well, fuck," he sighs, carding his hands through Val's hair since they're there, collapsed on top of him, warm and heavy.

Val snorts a tired sounding laugh. "Why thank you."

"Shut the fuck up," Norman says, and if it sounds affectionate, it's because he's falling asleep as he says it. Nothing more than that.

/////

Norman sits up sharply as an alarm goes off, then puts his face in his hands as pain shoots through his skull. He's so hungover, god. And starving. He hadn't had dinner and then all that alcohol... Oh, and then the... All of that... Other stuff...

Val sits up next to him, rubbing their own eyes and yawning, not looking any better, their face scrunched up in a familiar, hungover expression. "God, where's my... Phone? Shit." They're still naked as they shuffle around to find their pants and turn off their phone once they fish it out of a pocket.

Norman stares. No, Val's still attractive, that wasn't just the alcohol talking. Norman gives his head a brief shake. How did he end up here? How awkward is this going to be?

"Do you want like, breakfast? Coffee? Water, oh, water, yeah," Val says like they just remembered the thing exists and head into the kitchen without getting dressed, coming back with two glasses before Norman can even slide his legs out of bed. "Here."

Norman accepts it and Val, thankfully, starts putting on clothing, starting with sweatpants, thank god. "Eggs okay? I've only got like eggs and bagels. And coffee."

"Val, stop. You don't have to."

"What? Make you breakfast? You're here and I'm hungry so like... What do you want me to do? Ignore you?"

Norman mumbles something into his glass of water and Val scoffs.

"Right, well, eggs. Bagel. Coffee. Tylenol. Feel free to use the shower, I usually hop in before I leave. Then we need to make a plan of action, so don't take too long," Val says, tugging on a tshirt.

"Christ," Norman murmurs, but Val is already out of the bedroom again. They do need to get to work, that's true, and honestly, it could be a lot more awkward than this. Val is just being Val. Normal. They can just forget last night ever happened.

_Hey, McBride. I dare you to kiss me._

Norman heads into the shower after he finishes his glass of water. It's unlikely he'll ever be hearing that again.

/////

They stop by Goldsmith again on their way up towards Nappanee. They've taken Val's car this time because it admittedly blends in a little better with the locals. Norman's Celica is vintage and wonderful and eye-catching, but they are looking for a murderer right now. This time, they are armed with a photo of Charlie to show the locals. The town is small and it's easier to split up, go door to door and Norman lets Val handle that while Norman checks the gas station and the convenience store. Nothing, no one's seen him.

"I knew we should have kept the... yesterday out of the press," Val grouses as they get back into the driver's seat. Norman shuts the passenger side door and sighs then swats at Val's hand as they try to steal some fries he'd gotten from the gas station. They're soggy but they're Norman's.

"Yeah, well, they got wind of it somehow, now he's fucking gone. Bobby's put out an APB on his truck but..."

Val grumbles something as they start the car.

"What?"

"If I find him, I'll snap his neck," Val says, a little louder this time, turning around to back out of the parking space.

"No, you aren't. You're probably just going to cry."

"Shut the fuck up, Norman."

"Just because I'm right..." Norman hums around a fry.

"You're not. I'll kill him. I will," Val insists. "And if you find him first, you can't just shoot him."

Norman glowers. "That was one time, and self defense. That woman was on PCP or something and was about to murder me with a sword. Which was on fire somehow."

"Sure, of course. What about the french lady?"

"How was I supposed to know she was going to drop dead from some brain tumor as I was cuffing her? It was just a domestic dispute and she had just been yelling and trying to scratch her wife's eyes out, then, bang, dead."

"Bang?"

"_You know what I mean_."

Val chuckles and finally succeeds in stealing some fries, the fucker. They're equally as easy to make laugh as cry, Norman has noticed and if he gets a little ping of delight whenever he manages to, he's not going to admit it. The rest of the drive is passed in companionable silence, though there is a brief scuffle for which radio station they are going to listen to on the drive. The compromise ends up a reliable blues station because Valentine, apparently, does not understand the value of 80's pop songs.

That's fine though, those songs really only make Norman sad these days. He breaks and changes it to the top 100 station after the leather on Val's steering wheel squeaks a little too hard under their grip during a particularly lengthy banjo solo. He can bear with it for an hour and a half. Then Val's foot start's tapping and Norman has to squeeze their other knee to get them to stop. He catches the quirk of a smile on Val's face and their leg shifts closer, falling against the gearbox while the car speeds along on cruise control.

"Just stop tapping," Norman huffs, yanking his hand away and stuffing it between his knees like it needed to be punished for having a mind of its own. "You're a fucking menace during roadtrips, aren't you?"

Val just laughs and Norman looks out the window, waiting for this trip to be over.

Nappanee is a city, at least, and they drop by the police department as their first stop. There's been an APB put out, statewide, but so far, no dice.

"Split up again?" Val says, eyeing a map on their phone. "You take east and I take west, how does that sound?"

"Just keep in contact," Norman says, taking out his notepad. "And don't do anything stupid, I'm the one who shoots people around here, got it? Don't make my mistakes."

"Yes, daddy," Val hums. Norman shoves them into a bush, pleased to hear them sputter and struggle as he splits off.

The photo gets a little more traction around the east of town. People have seen Charlie around, and recently, too. "Just this mornin', actually," the lady at the counter of the deli tells him. "Why? Have you found his brother? That sweet boy..."

Norman waves her away when she says that she doesn't know where he went. This is frustrating. It was a mistake to split up here, Norman can already tell. He has a couple of texts from Val, the last one... An hour ago? Norman frowns at his phone, then steps outside to call.

The person who picks up, well, it's not Val. "Detective McBride, hello." The voice is deeper, the accent midwestern. Oh, fuck.

"Charles Bennett?"

"That's me."

"What have you done this time?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone else. So, if you'd be so kind as to bring yourself and your gun to the Living Gospel Church on West Walnut Street, I'd be thankful. And if you could wait to call for back up until after our talk..."

"What have you done with Val?"

"They're here with me, alive, I promise. The station is only four minutes away, so you don't have to worry about your safety. But if the police get here before you do, I _will_ shoot them, the first siren I see."

He hangs up. Norman curses, then sets out at a run. It's barely a half mile to the church, but he's out of breath when he gets there. Out of breath and panicking. Why is he here? Shit. Fuck. Charlie's got a gun. He's also got Val fucking hostage. This is - shit, Norman is ill prepared for this situation. What the hell does Charlie even want with him? He should just call the rest of the department. He can see the edge of the building just a couple of blocks down the road.

But he doesn't want Val dead. Oh god, he feels sick even imagining that. Jesus, what does he do?

The church is fairly large, with two entrances that Norman can see off the bat. Okay, Charlie can't know which one he's going to come through. Maybe he can stay hidden. He hightails it towards the east entrance, quietly pushing open the door and drawing his gun.

The hallway inside is empty, closed door of classrooms lining one side of it. The chapel must be further ahead. Norman checks each door regardless, just in case, but they are all locked and dark and he can't hear anything but his own heartbeat in his throat. The chapel doors, however, are slightly ajar. There's just the sound of footsteps, slow and measured, like someone is pacing the pews, the familiar smell of burning tobacco slowly wafting through the crack.

Shit.

Norman tries to quietly shoulder the doors open a little wider but the hinges squeal sharply in the silence and he throws his gun up as he steps across the threshold.

There he is, the man from the photo. He's smoking nervously and to Norman he almost looks... Harmless. He's big and brawny and probably has a good couple of inches on Norman, height wise, but he's got those familial blond curls that are kind of reminiscent of those cherubs on Valentine's Day cards. But Norman's long since stopped trusting appearances. "Charles Bennett, you're under arrest for the murder of Stefan Bennett and the kidnapping of detective Valentine Ewing. Drop your weapon and put your hands up in the air."

He does no such thing, of course. "Thank you, Detective McBride. You've made my life easier." Charlie draws Val's gun and Norman fires. The bullet goes wide, shattering glass and Charlie barely even flinches. "Come on, detective. Try again."

He's got Val's gun trained on Norman and Norman has never been so confused in his life. "What the hell- Do you want me to shoot you?"

"I can't go to trial. I can't hurt my family any more than I already did. I don't want my father to have to deal with that. And you, detective, have a reputation."

Norman grits his teeth. "Get on your knees, Bennett. You should have gotten Val to shoot you."

Charlie makes a face. "Valentine couldn't hurt a fly. They dated my brother. I know that for a fact. Talk a big game but never follow through." He's got Val dead to rights, of course, but Norman has a feeling even they've got exceptions.

"Where are they, then?"

Charlie nods his head to his left. "I've got them trussed up in one of the pews," he says without turning around to see Val peek out around one of the benches, clearly already free. Fucker better have a plan. "Well, are you going to shoot me or not?"

"How do I know they're alive?" Norman says, scrambling for anything to distract Charlie for a little while longer. Val gingerly steps out into the aisle, trying to be silent.

"What does it matter, detective?" Charlie takes off the safety. "Shoot me or I'll shoot you first."

"If they're dead-"

"Then you should shoot me. Come on! I should have shot them if I knew you were going to be so difficult," the gun goes wide as Charlie gestures, almost smacking Val as they quickly back away. "They would have given you an award for shooting the cop killer. But if you need a reason-" the gun swings back around and there's a gunshot and pain in Norman's thigh, Norman's gun clattering to the floor as he goes down.

"Fuck!" Oh jesus christ, he's bleeding. He scrambles for his gun before realizing that Charlie isn't standing anymore and Val is making their way towards him at a run.

"Shit, are you okay? I shouldn't have waited that long, I'm sorry, jesus, aw, god, he shot you-"

"I know he shot me, Val, fuuuck, just call an ambulance already, you dog shit son of a bitch," Norman growls while Val is putting pressure on his thigh and he can do that himself thank you, almost smacking Val with his phone. He can see that they definitely have the beginnings of a black eye and scrapes on their wrists that look like they came from a zip tie.

Val laughs, the maniac, and dials even though their hands are slick with blood. "We need an ambulance and a squad car to the church on west Walnut Street. Yeah. No, the situation's handled. Thanks." They hang up. "They'll be here in a minute."

"Did you fucking cuff him?" Norman demands as Val turns their attention to Norman's thigh again.

"Of course, I cuffed him. Good job keeping him talking, love. I honestly thought his plan had some merit," Val says, grinning a little as they're keeping the blood from running out of Norman's body and onto the floor.

"Oh, fuck you, Ewing," Norman groans and rests his head on their shoulder. There's sirens in the distance. Charlie groans from farther along the aisle and a pastor bustles in, panicking and mostly ignored. Something clicks. "Wait, what did you call me?"

"Huh?"

"Did you just call me love?"

Val's eyebrows raise. "Me? Never." They grin.

"You fucking did, what the hell is that about?" Norman insists, grabbing on to the back of Val's collar, dragging them in even though they're very close already. "You're going to have to explain yourself."

"Sweetheart," Val says, grinning just a little wider. Norman can hear the slamming of car doors outside and the pastor rushes out to greet the police as they arrive.

"Fuck you, Val," Norman says and kisses them.


End file.
